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" Naw," another voice said from the shadow of the thicket,
"the engineer sets on the other side, he couldn't see nothing
over here."

The train was out of sight now.

No one spoke for a minute or two. There was no sound
except a faintly rasping, dry, restless sound from the dark
woods across the lane, a sound like a breeze in dead leaves
before they fall. But there was no wind. Doctor MacDonald
began to sing under his breath, almost wordlessly: "The
old grey mare come trotten through the wilderness, trotten
through the wilderness, trotten through the wilderness. The
old grey mare come-----"

" It's cold," one of the voices said subduedly.

" It's this standing around," the other voice rejoined.

"Well," the first man said, "I hope we don't find it no
hotter before day, huh?"

Under his breath Doctor MacDonald kept on singing:
" We come to a creek but we couldn't git acrost, we couldn't
git acrost, we couldn't git acrost-----"

"Do you reckon there's any chance it's true about word
getting out?"

Doctor MacDonald sang softly, "óbut we couldn't git

"It came pretty straight," the other man answered, "from
a man who drives a team for the Alta."

Doctor MacDonald stopped singing. "If there is a home
guard, or whatever that fellow said it was," he said, "it'll
be a passel of warehouse hands and clerks and young bucks
with nothing better to do. Unless they brought in some
other men on the train. And we'll know that in a minute.
Soon as he gets here." He began to sing, so softly that the
words were indistinguishable now. The other men were silent.

Mr. Munn said, "I hear him now." Doctor MacDonald
stopped humming.

There was the sound of a horse galloping up the lane from
the pike, an increasing sound of hoofs on the soft earth of the
lane like a roll on a damp and sagging drumhead. The bulk